Her Favorite Zine
by The Inamorata
Summary: What the April issue of Seventeen magazine did to Rukia. Rated T for some language.[Oneshot]


A/N: A Bleach oneshot I wrote out of boredom. What a magazine can do to you if you're not careful

Disclaimer: I used real things from the April Issue of _Seventeen_ Magazine. I don't own Bleach or _Seventeen_.

* * *

It was a beautiful day at Karakura High School. The sun was shining and the breeze was blowing, and everyone was in high spirits. It was just a normal day, nothing unusual about it.

There were still about ten minutes until the first bell when Ichigo walked into the classroom. Tatsuki and Orihime were chatting about something in the corner. Keigo was crying to Mizuiro about not getting to go along with them to Tokyo Disney this coming Spring break. Ishida was sewing something up again. Rukia was sitting at her desk, apparently reading a magazine.

"Ditched the romance novels, I see," Ichigo said as he walked up to her.

"Look what I picked up on the way here," Rukia said. All of a sudden a blown up picture of Avril Lavigne was in his face, along with the words _Seventeen_ plastered above her. Apparently this was the "hair" issue. Ichigo pushed it away from his face.

"Yeah, yeah, that's nice," he said. "At least you're reading something modern this time."

"Ichigo, I actually had a few questions…" Rukia said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Yeah?"

"Is this really possible?" she asked, pointing to some words on the front cover. Ichigo read them aloud.

"'Over 635 Fashion & Beauty Ideas.' Yeah, I guess it is, I mean the cover wouldn't lie to you, but I don't read those kind of magazines so…"

"Not _that_," Rukia cut him off, waving the magazine closer to his face. "Below that."

"Oh." Ichigo read the words aloud again. "'Get Your Best Butt.'"

Ichigo: …

"Well?" Rukia asked. "Can a magazine _really_ tell you how to get a better butt?"

"How the hell would I know?" Ichigo turned around to go to his desk, his face burning red. Rukia didn't bother him anymore, and once class started he actually tried to concentrate. That is, until Rukia jumped up and started screaming.

"OH MY GOD!" she yelled. Ichigo was the first to respond.

"What? What happened? Is everything okay?" He was standing up, starting to panic, think maybe the Soul Society had sent her message… maybe Aizen had started moving…"

"It says right here!" Rukia shouted to the entire class, holding up the magazine and reading aloud. "'Is School Secretly Making You Fat?'"

All the girls in the class gasped, then started whispering frantically.

"Oh, no, Hime!" Chizuru cried as she leaned over Orihime's desk. "Even if you were as fat as an elephant I would still love you!"

"Shut it, Chizuru," Tatsuki said, giving her a good kick in the shin under her desk.

The girls weren't the only ones freaking out. Keigo was running around the room with tears in his eyes. "No! The ladies will never want me now!" he cried over and over again.

Ishida pushed up his glasses.

Chad grunted.

"WHAT?!" Ochi-sensei cried, not even bothering to try calming everyone down, grabbing the magazine desperately from Rukia's hands and flipping through the pages.

Rukia stood on the top of her desk and thrust her fist into the air. "We must begin a revolution!" she exclaimed. "No more school uniforms as they are unfashionable!"

She ripped off her uniform, and everyone gasped, for underneath she was wearing all the clothing they had in the "Hot or Not" section, except she got all of her from the Not part.

"Holy shit, Rukia…" was all Ichigo managed to say. But everyone else in the class was cheering and chanting. Rukia jumped off her desk and started lead everyone out the classroom door. The only ones who remained in the classroom now were Ichigo and Ishida; even Ochi-sensei had followed the riot.

"Well… that sure was odd," Ishida said to Ichigo, who was banging his head on his desk repeatedly.

"That just proves what one magazine can do to you," Ishida sighed. Ichigo nodded in agreement.

Then continued hitting his head on the desk.


End file.
